


This Must Be Heaven

by sea_hag



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, baseball AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:16:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_hag/pseuds/sea_hag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It ain't over 'til it's over."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jean Kirschtein was really, really drunk.

I didn’t really care; Jean was an asshole, and if he wanted to get wasted and do even stupider shit than the stupid shit he did when he was sober, I didn’t really give a damn. But a combination of the Sina Soldiers (“Crushing the Stohess Scorpions since 1950! Best baseball team in the state!”) winning the regional game, and being really drunk on expensive beer, had turned Jean into an unbearably cocky, flirty fuckhead who wouldn’t leave Armin alone.

“Armin, Armin baby,” he was slurring, “you are the litter – no, that’s wrong – literally the  _only_ person I want to be first basing. The  _only_ .”

Armin was the only reason I’d even come to Jean’s lame party – the idea of spending the night with a group of probably the most arrogant people I’d ever met made me want to throw up, and possibly also drive a knife through my neck. It would’ve been marginally more bearable if Jean hadn’t decorated his house in the team colours, so there was tacky blue and white shit lying around everywhere.

But I couldn’t handle the thought of Armin hanging out alone with a bunch of lame, rich baseball players, so even when Mikasa said she’d come, too, I let Armin drag me halfway across town to Jean’s place.

“Does he even know if Armin can play baseball?” said a voice from behind me. Mikasa was stood at my shoulder, holding a red plastic cup of beer and gazing stoically at Armin and Jean.

“I don’t even know if Armin can play baseball,” I told her. “Jesus Christ, I’m actually going to vomit.”

Jean had stopped simply flirting with Armin, and had thrown his arm round Armin’s shoulders, leaning over clumsily to speak directly into his ear.

“Be nice,” she said, swigging from her cup.

“I am being nice. I’ll only not be nice if Jean isn’t,” I told her, glaring across the room at him.

“Just don’t start a fight,” she told me, shrugging. “He’s not doing anything.”

 I exhaled sharply, but Mikasa was right. I didn’t want to start a fight at Jean’s place, even if he really pissed me off, because everyone would take his side and Sina High would become even shittier than it already was if the entire baseball team wanted to kick my face in. Instead, I turned to face her. 

“I’m gonna go get some air,” I told her, trying not to look in Jean and Armin’s direction.

“Okay. Don’t stay out too long,” she warned me, sipping beer.

I ignored her, and pushed my way through the crowd of people filling Jean’s house. About five seconds before I shut the door, I turned my head round just in time to see Jean lower his mouth onto Armin's. We'd been going to Sina for about a fortnight, and Armin fucking Arlert was already getting more action than me.

 

 

Rod Reiss’s 24-hour convenience store was right on the outskirts of Jean’s neighbourhood, a twenty-minute walk away from his house. For something right on the edge of the richest area in Sina, Rod Reiss’s looked more like the kind of thing you got in the middle of Shiganshina - the paint round the door was cracked and faded, and the “o” and “s” in the neon sign that read “Bobby Rose’s” had gone out. I knew from Marco that Rod Reiss’s did the cheapest Bud Lite in Sina, and that the alley behind it was where rich kids like Jean bought pot for triple what you could get it for in Shiganshina. They also had a working slushie machine, and right now, I could murder an extra large slushie.

The inside of the store was pretty much just as grim as the front, and it stank of smoke. It was empty except for the guy working the front; there was a cigarette dangling out of his mouth, and he was wearing a navy-and-white striped uniform shirt and eyeliner, and he looked vaguely familiar. He had headphones in, but he took them out when he saw me, and I could hear music buzzing from them.

“Are you gonna buy anything or what?” he scowled, leaning forward on the counter.

“You shouldn’t smoke in here,” I said, mentally kicking myself, because Jesus Christ, Eren, what a great way to sound like a lame fucking asshole.

“I really don’t give a fuck,” he snapped. “Look, kid, if you aren’t gonna buy anything you can get out.”

I was kind of taken aback by the amount of hostility in his voice - I was used to being spoken to like that, from all the kids I’d gotten into fights with, and from my eighth grade teacher - but it wasn’t like I’d done anything to this guy. All I wanted was a dumb slushie.

“Y-yeah. A slushie.”

He didn’t bother asking what flavour, and he slid the cup across the counter at me so quickly it nearly went all over the floor. I wish it had, so he had a giant fucking slushie mess to clear up, because he deserved a giant fucking slushie mess to clear up, because he was a serious goddamn asshole.

After I’d slid a dollar across the counter, and was turning to leave, he spoke again. “Hey, kid. Kid.”

“What?”

“You go to Sina High, right?” he exhaled smoke, creating a haze around his face.

“Um. Yeah,”  I replied.

“So you’re going to that asshole’s party, right? The kid who looks like a showpony?”

Despite myself, I snickered. “Yeah. How do you know who Jean is?”

“He’s in my Social Studies class, dumbass. I’m a senior.”

“Oh.  _Oh_ ,” that explained why he looked familiar.

“Jesus Christ, you’re dumb. Tell Jean to go fuck himself with something dirty and sandpapery.” He waved his hands at me, as if he was shooing me out of the store. “Now get the fuck out of my store.”

I was halfway out the door when he spoke again (for someone who wanted me to get out of the store, he seriously couldn’t shut up.”

“Oi, kid. What’s your name?”

“It’s. Um. It’s Eren,” I stuttered, cringing at my inability to speak properly.

“Cute. I’ll see you Monday,” he answered, leaning across the counter and winking exaggeratedly at me.

I contorted my facial muscles into something I was praying resembled a glare, and left the store, letting the door slam behind me.

 

 

Back at the party, Mikasa was the only sober one there, which I was grateful for, because everyone else – even Armin, who’d once thrown up because he drank full fat milk – was completely off their faces. I could hear music pumping from the house from halfway down the street, and it sounded suspiciously like Deee-Lite.

Almost everyone was in Jean’s huge dining room, because apparently people still had them, where someone had cleared the table of the food and drink he’d set out on it. Sasha was stood on top of the table, dancing drunkenly with a bottle of beer in each hand.

“Hey,” Mikasa greeted me when I found her. “What took you so long?”

“The guy was a total asshole,” I told her. “I told him he shouldn’t smoke in the store, and he basically told me to fuck off.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you know him?”

“No, but he said he’s a senior at our school. Never seen him before, though.”

“If you see him Monday, point him out to me,” she said, frowning.

“I can take care of myself, Mikasa,” I said, because I love Mikasa like a sister but I could imagine what the guy would say if I had to get her to sort him out for me.

“Sure you can,” she muttered, turning to the table, where Sasha was still stumbling around and giggling wildly. “She’s gonna fall off.”

As usual, Mikasa’s intuition was spot on. As soon as she’d spoken, Sasha tottered off the table, landing clumsily on her knees. Impressively, she managed to hold on to both her drinks, but the contents of one of them went all over her front, soaking her shirt. One of the guys on the team who I recognised from my biology class – Connie something-or-other – leant down to help her up, and stumbled into her, both of them laughing wildly.

Mikasa pressed a bottle of beer into my hand, gazing at me intently. “Loosen up,” she told me, and it sounded more like an order than a request.

 

A few bottles later – I lost count after five –  I was seized by the need to pee. Like, I’ve never needed to pee that badly before.

I grabbed Connie’s arm, because he was the person closest to me, and I wasn’t sure how long I could stay balanced without support. “If I don’t go to the bathroom in the next five minutes I’m going to cry pee,” I told him.

“Up that stair,” he told me, waving an arm in the general direction of the staircase. “First on the right. First on the left is Jean, and really don’t go there.”

“Why not?”

“Jean always bangs people at parties. Marking, me, you... He’s a banging machine. He has so much sex, Eren,” he gripped my arm, and his voice suddenly dropped about four octaves. “ _Eren_. He has _so much sex_.” Connie looked like he was physically pained by this, but in the few seconds it had taken his tone to shift, he was back in his energetic, drunken stupor.

“Pee good, man,” he told me, slapping me on the arm as I walked past.

All the doors on the second floor were identical, all painted the same shade of white, but I was pretty sure Connie had said the first door on the left, and I half-walked, half-fell through it. There was no toilet, or shower, or anything that would’ve indicated it was a bathroom. Instead, there was a large bed, from which a loud collection of grunts and moans were coming from.

“Uh,” I said lamely.

They gasped simultaneously, then giggled, and Jean’s face appeared, red and shiny. A second flushed, sweaty face appeared, except this one was framed by blond hair.

“Armin?”

“Eren!”

We stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, and Jean erupted in laughter.

“If you need the bathroom, Jaeger, it’s across the hall.” He sounded surprisingly sober, considering how wasted he’d been when I last saw him. “And if that’s everything, I’m kind of in the middle of something,” he added, throwing an arm around Armin’s shoulder.

“Uh. Yeah.” I backed out, looking at everything except Armin.

Outside, Marco was leaving the bathroom, and he beamed when he saw me.

“Are you feeling better, Eren?” he asked.

I pointed at the door he’d emerged from. “Bathroom?”

“Bathroom,” he confirmed, moving toward Jean’s room. Where there was sex happening. Between Jean and Armin.

“Marco!” I lunged forward, tried to grab his arm, and stumbled. “Don’t go in there.”

He smiled at me reassuringly. “Don’t worry, man,” he replied, “it was my idea.”

And I couldn’t be sure, because I was still pretty drunk, but I swear that when Marco entered that room, Armin fucking cheered.


	2. Chapter 2

 When I woke up, I was sprawled out on one of Jean’s couches, with an arm folded under me uncomfortably. There was music playing somewhere, and I could hear voices coming from the next room across. I dragged myself off the couch, shaking feeling back into my arm, and had a few blissful seconds of hazy half-awakedness before I remembered: Armin had gotten laid double time. And was probably still upstairs, sandwiched in between Jean and Marco.

“You’re awake,”

I glanced up and saw Mikasa in the doorway, holding a mug of coffee. She walked over and handed it to me.

“What time is it?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. They were still grainy and sore with sleep, and they pricked with hangover-induced tears.

“About eleven,” she replied. “You fell asleep after you went to the bathroom. Last I saw, Armin was necking Advil and OJ in the kitchen.”

“Let’s go get him. I wanna go home,” I told her, because even though the last thing I wanted to do was talk to Armin – the last time I’d seen him, he’d been naked in Jean’s bed, halfway through a threeway – I’d have to talk to him about it eventually.

“Wait, Eren,” Mikasa leaned forward to grab my arm. “Last night Armin—”

“Yeah, I know. With Jean and Marco.”

A smile played across her lips. “Kind of impressive, huh?”

I nodded, because she was right. The last person I’d thought would get laid at Jean’s party was Armin, and yet there he’d been, getting double fucked in the biggest bed I’d ever seen.

When we got to the kitchen, he was stood by the sink, pale and bleary-eyed, but he beamed when he saw us.

“Eren! I’m glad you’re awake! Jean said if we stayed to help clean up he’d take us out to lunch,” he told me, cheeks flushing when he said Jean’s name.

“No,”  I replied, rougher than I’d intended. “I wanna go home, drink a couple hundred pints of water and watch _SNL_ reruns all day.”

He looked slightly crestfallen, but put his glass in the sink and crossed the room to meet me. “Okay. Can I say goodbye to Jean first, though?”

“Urgh. Armin. Text him.”

He shrugged slightly, and followed me and Mikasa down the hall and out into the street. We were halfway down the street when Mikasa looked at me and said, “I’m really in the mood for a coke. Do you guys want one?”

Obviously, the closest place to buy a coke was Rod Reiss’s, but I figured the guy from last night wouldn’t still be there.

When we got there, the store was as empty as it had been the night before, except for the guy working the front. He had black hair and eyeliner and several ear piercings. It was the same asshole who I’d bought the slushie from. The same asshole who’d called me dumb and treated me like fucking shit, leaning forward on the counter with his headphones still in.

He pulled them out when he saw us, and blanked me and Armin. “Hey, Mikasa,” he said, in the same monotone he’d spoken with before.

“Levi! Didn’t know you worked here,” she answered, taking a coke from the refrigerator buy the counter. “Get whatever you want,” she told me and Armin. “It’s on me.”

“Hey. Wait. Oi, kid,” Levi said, and I felt his eyes on me.

“What?”

“Slushie, right?”

“Wait,” Mikasa cut in abruptly. “Eren, is Levi the guy you were talking about last night?” I couldn’t be sure, but I was pretty sure she was smirking slightly.

Levi quirked an eyebrow. “You were talking about me, huh?”

I scowled at both of them. “Yeah. Because you’re a real fucking jerk,” I told him, slapping a dollar on the counter. He rolled his eyes and passed me the drink, glaring at me.

“Have a great day, brat. Feel free to get out now.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled, grabbing my drink and turning, leaving Mikasa and Armin to pay up for whatever they were buying.

When they left the store, I narrowed my eyes at Mikasa.

“He pisses me off, but he’s a jerk to everyone. Don’t let it get to you,” she told me coolly, before I had a chance to say anything.

“What, so just because he’s like that with everyone he can get away with it? Jesus Christ,” I huffed. I don’t know if it was because I was so used to Mikasa getting into fights defending me, or because Levi had acted like he was so above me even though there couldn’t have been more than a couple years between us, but I was buzzing with anger the way I usually only did when I got in fights.

“Mikasa’s kinda right, Eren,” Armin said quietly, lowering the vanilla coke he’d been drinking. “He’s not worth it.”

“Whatever, Armin. You had a threeway with Jean and Marco.”

He blushed furiously. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” I replied, “I’m just seriously doubting your judgement right now.”

He frowned at me, but couldn’t help a grin spreading across his face. “Whatever,” he said, echoing me, “I need to be home before my grandfather calls Missing Persons or the FBI.”

Our neighbourhood was only an hours’ walk away from Jean’s, so we didn’t bother waiting for a bus and alternated between our typical back-and-forth banter and companionable silence.

 

* * *

 

 

By Monday morning, I was completely free of the pounding headache and gritty throat that come with hangovers (not that it made waking up at six-thirty am any easier), and I stumbled into the kitchen at seven, where Mikasa was leaning against the counter eating a plastic-wrapped Belgian waffle.

“Are there any of those left?” I asked her, gesturing at the waffle.

“No, but I made coffee. It might be cold now, though,” she told me, pushing away from the counter and brushing crumbs off her hands.

“That’s fine. Anything caffeinated is good.”

“We don’t need to wait for Armin, by the way,” she said. It was practically tradition for us to wait for Armin in the mornings; his house, which was up the street from ours, was right by the bus stop, and if we got to his place early enough there was a chance his grandfather would make us one of his legendary BLTs, topped with avocado and cucumber. For his old-fashiondness and over protectiveness, Mr Arlert could make killer BLTs.

It was because of this unbroken tradition that I tensed up. “Why not?”

“He called earlier. He went in early to try out for the baseball team. They’re doing a practice run now, and actual tryouts after school.”

I groaned. “He’s only doing it because of Jean.”

“What’s your point?” she asked, looking over at me. Recognition flickered in her eyes, and she sighed. “Don’t be weird with Armin because of what happened at the party.”

“I’m not!” I protested, even though I kind of was, because you try looking your best friend in the eyes and carrying on like normal the day after they’ve fucked the biggest prick you’ve ever met. Pun not intended.

“Whatever,” Mikasa drawled, walking out of the kitchen. “Hurry up and get ready. I don’t wanna be late,”

I pulled a face behind her back, but rushed upstairs to get dressed regardless.

 

* * *

 

“Mr Yeager, when exactly do you have gym?”

“Every day, sir.”

“And when was the last time you attended gym class?”

It was a trick question; I hadn’t been to gym class once. It’s not that I don’t like sport, but Coach Shadis’s class didn’t count towards my GPA, and gym was the same time as the seniors’ lunch hour, which was the only time the cafeteria served regular soda instead of diet. And from what I’d heard, Coach Shadis was a grade-A asshole.

“I hope you’re a baseball fan, Yeager,” Coach Shadis said, eyes narrowed in fury.

“Sir?”

“There’s a couple players off the team this year. We need a new benchwarmer,” he informed me, still impressively purple-faced with anger. “There are tryouts after school. You won’t be trying out for anything, obviously, because I highly doubt you have any skill whatsoever at the most basic sport. But we can always do with an extra water carrier.”

I gaped at him.

“You can join the team, or spend your weekends making up for the classes you skipped with me,” he offered, smirking, because he knew I was in a really, really shitty position.

“Okay,” I mumbled. “I’ll join the team.”

He stepped back, grinning with victory. “Excellent. Welcome to the Trost Titans, Yeager.”

Some day this was shaping up to be.

**Author's Note:**

> This is where I tell you I don't know anything about baseball, and also any misuse/lack of American expressions is my own fault! We don't have baseball teams in England and 98% of my reason for writing this is for cutting class and making out under the bleachers.


End file.
